


and we will never sever

by bettysdryer



Series: Made of Steel [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, First Kiss, First Time, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysdryer/pseuds/bettysdryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Jaime looked upon her face, the wide jaw and freckles, broken nose and broken teeth and torn up cheek and it was odd how it wasn't repulsive to him anymore; it was just Brienne.</p><p>(This fic is part of a series but can be read on its own)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we will never sever

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Made of Steel series, but can be read as a stand-alone fic.
> 
> Full disclosure -- I have not read A Dance With Dragons yet, except for Jaime's chapter, so there might be stuff I've gotten wrong somehow? If that's the case, I apologize and we'll just pretend it didn't happen.
> 
> Spoilers ahead for all of the books.

“What do you say, Brienne, Maid of Tarth?” Ser Hyle Hunt grinned at her. “Now that we're all safe and sound, is my marriage proposal looking sweeter?”

Jaime nearly choked on his mutton. Brienne's neck had turned red, but she didn't say anything.

“Marriage proposal?” Jaime asked, once the coughing subsided. He could hardly believe his ears. “ _You_? And _her_? Well, of course she turned you down. Right, Brienne?”

She was silent for several long, agonizing moments. “I haven't decided one way or the other yet,” she said stiffly.

 _Surely she's joking._ But she wasn't. Her jaw was set, eyes deadly calm and serious. Not pleased, not excited by the prospect, no. But still, it was there.

“Oh.” A heavy weight seemed to set on Jaime's shoulders. “Well. Best of luck to you both.”

He felt himself rise forcefully out of his chair and storm out of the dining room, his phantom hand clenched into a fist.

“What's _his_ problem?” he heard Hunt ask upon his exit.

 _Good question, whelp._ He couldn't explain the deep-seated anger that had arisen in his chest. It was almost like when Cersei had married King Robert, and he'd been forced to stand guard their wedding night, their moans echoing in his ears for days.

Except, of course, not really anything like that at all. He was angry on _Brienne's_ behalf. This man merely wanted land and titles, not Brienne herself. But how was that different from any other marriage in Westeros? Almost no one married for love in this place.

 _Because she will not be happy,_ he told himself. _If nothing else, she deserves happiness. Brienne was not made for dutiful matrimony and staying locked up in a dreary castle, waiting for such a man as Ser Hyle Hunt to steal into her bed at night and stick his vile cock inside her. She was made to fight, and roam, eyes alight and a sword at her hip and a strong horse between her legs – not_ him.

He had to persuade her to not go through with this. The thought of her settling down with that – _thing_ (he'd had no opinion of the man before this news, but he now found himself detesting the very core of Ser Hyle's being) – well, it was unbearable. He must speak with her alone as soon as possible.

But instead he paced the floor of his room for hours, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, none of which he could recall only moments after having thought them. It was nearly the middle of the night before he could finally make himself take those five steps down the hall and knock on her door.

“Go away, Ser Hyle!” she yelled. “I've already told you, you try anything, I'll chop your balls off myself!”

Jaime had to laugh at that. _Stubborn wench._

“Jaime?” He heard some brief fumbling inside before Brienne opened the door, robe wrapped tightly around her body, pale blonde hair disheveled. “What is it? What's happened?”

“Nothing. May I come in?”

She hesitated, but nodded and stood aside.

Her room was much smaller than his, but cozier. The bed took up more than half the room. Brienne sat down on it, but Jaime stood.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Brienne,” he began, shutting the door behind him. “But... I feel I must tell you that marrying Ser Hyle Hunt would be a great folly on your part.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms and regarded him coolly. “Why?”

“You can do better.”

Brienne stared at him, then burst into high-pitched laughter. “'I can do better'?” She took a deep breath. “Have you looked at me lately? No. I cannot.”

This made his heart hurt, for some reason. “Some men care not for looks.”

“Yes. And Ser Hyle Hunt is one of them. In a way.” She paused. “It is true that he wants to marry me only because of my birthrights. But he's not – he's not really like the others. He would let me be me. He wouldn't try to dress me up and make me anything less than what I am. And I'm so... I'm so _tired_. I'm so tired of being alone. I want to go home. I want to be a knight and I want to be happy and I – I actually _do_ want to have children, someday. I suppose it is a feeble woman's wish, but it's true all the same.”

Jaime had a sudden image of golden-haired children with sapphire blue eyes sword-fighting on a grassy knoll over-looking the sea. He shook the thought away, perturbed. “Ser Hyle will not make you happy.”

“Really? And how do you know that?” She seemed to honestly want an answer.

 _Because I do._ “I don't, in truth.”

Brienne looked away and sighed heavily. “I haven't decided, anyway.”

“Do you... do you want to marry the man?” Jaime took a few steps closer. “Truly?”

She chewed on her lip as her eyes – and they really were astonishingly blue – darted about, not looking directly at him. “I don't know.”

“You should know, before you decide.” He wanted to grab her by the jaw and force her to look at him, but knew she would probably punch him for his efforts. And he was so very fond of his face. Instead, he sat on the bed next to her. He suddenly felt a numb tingle across his skin.

“Well, what does it matter? And why do you even care?” Brienne finally turned to face him, a defiant glare setting across her broad, homely face. Well, maybe not _so_ homely. The moonlight was very becoming on her, even with the ghastly scar across her cheek.

“I'm not sure,” he said softly, averting his gaze.

“Then leave.”

He almost did. He almost stood up, almost brushed off his breeches, almost took two paces to the door, almost left – but instead he said, “ _I_ don't want you to marry Ser Hyle.”

She looked as surprised as he felt. _What on earth made me say_ that _?_ The words had left him involuntarily, with no prompting from his brain whatsoever.

Brienne stopped gaping at him long enough to ask, “Why?” in a hushed – did he detect a note of hope? – tone.

And Jaime looked upon her face, the wide jaw and freckles, broken nose and broken teeth and torn up cheek and it was odd how it wasn't repulsive to him anymore; it was just Brienne. Brienne and her bravery and honor and courage. Brienne, who had shown him he could be better than he was. Brienne, who had saved him, and he had saved her. Brienne, Maid of Tarth. Brienne, the Beauty.

 _Oh, seven hells,_ he thought. _I'm in love with her, aren't I?_

Everything around him seemed to shift. He supposed he had known for a while – somewhere, buried deep down where he could not find – but this was... this was too much, right now. Too all-encompassing. Too strange. He had never loved another woman except Cersei, especially not a woman such as Brienne. He needed time to think...

But Brienne was not willing to give him that time, and her lips were pressed against his, forceful and pursed, inexperienced. She pulled away immediately, began to gasp out, “I'm sorry”, but Jaime was swallowing her apologies into his mouth before she could say them.

It was... odd, and different, though not unpleasing. Brienne kept pulling away from his tongue slightly, embarrassed and hesitant, but eventually she settled into their rhythm. He could feel her cheek burn hot and bright against his left hand, and this was so utterly bizarre – so the opposite of Cersei, the opposite of everything he'd ever known – but also, it all fit together, and his cock was already hard. He brushed it against her leg by accident, and she yanked away.

“Oh – ” Both her face and neck were red now, and only months ago he would have thought that it made her uglier, but now he just found it endearing. Especially since he was the cause of it. 

“I'm sorry, my lady.” 

“No, it's – okay...”

He chuckled against her lips, and kissed her once more. It was a thrill he hadn't experienced in such a long time. Something new and interesting. He knew Cersei's body like his own, but Brienne's was new territory, muscled thighs where Cersei's were soft, rough and callused hands where Cersei's were smooth and lady-like. 

But Jaime had had enough of soft and smooth and lady-like. 

They were lying on the bed now, side to side, Brienne's hands running across his back, making him moan, his teeth nibbling her ear as she shuddered. 

_Am I really doing this?_ some part of him thought as he sucked on her neck and she squirmed underneath him (oh, he had climbed on top of her at some point, apparently). _Have I lost my senses?_

No, his senses were still intact – touch and taste and sight and all the rest – they were, in fact, heightened. The world was sharp, Brienne's breaths quick in his ear. 

“Jaime,” she said. “Jaime.”

Something, suddenly, made him stop. _My vows._ She opened her eyes and gave him a worried look.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no.” Jaime paused. “I... the Kingsguard...” 

“Oh.” 

Jaime climbed off of her hips and lay next to her, his cock still standing comically at attention, Brienne's entire face now a deep shade of pink. Her arm was under his back, and he shifted slightly so she could move it, but she did not.

“So... are you going to leave now?” Brienne's voice was cracked and breathless. 

Jaime turned on his side to face her. “I'll stay. But we mustn't – ”

“I broke my vows for _you_ ,” she snapped. “Why can you not do the same for me?” 

Jaime raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Is this Brienne of Tarth I'm in bed with right now? I took you for a woman of honor.”

“And I took you for an oathbreaker.” She was smirking at him now, too, something he had never seen her do before, and he felt himself get even harder, almost painfully so. 

“Ah, the lady knight who reminded me of the value of vows and chivalry is now _begging_ me to toss it all away so I can rip off her clothes and ravage her.” He kissed her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. “How the tables turn.”

“Is it because I'm ugly?” she blurted out. “Are you just using your vows as an excuse to – ”

“If I didn't want to be with you, do you think I would be doing things like this?” Her kissed her fingertips. “And this?” He ran the palm of his hand up her legs, and she shivered, goosepimples prickling across her skin as he stopped just short of her cunt. “I don't do anything I don't want to,” he whispered in her ear. “You should know that by now.”

Brienne raised a challenging stare at him. “So do it.” 

And he did.

He palmed her cunt, incredibly wet already, and she let out a moan so loud that he almost shushed her before remembering that there was no need for her to be quiet. They were not brother and sister, and there was nothing to hide. The whole world could hear her shout in ecstasy for all he cared. He wanted them to hear. All of them.

 _Let them wake from their sleep to hear her pleasure at my fingers,_ he thought, making a small circle around the part that made her cry out the most. His left hand felt so clumsy and awkward, especially at this angle, but it seemed to make no difference to her. _Let them dream about it, the night the Maid of Tarth was fucked by the Kingslayer._

Well, no. This was still dangerous. If anyone of import should find out he had broken his vows, it would mean his head, and possibly hers. Although he would like to see them try. And, technically, he wasn't breaking his vows right now, anyway...

She was clutching him so hard now, her fingers digging into his back, her legs wrapped around his. He'd almost forgotten how strong she was, and the night she carried him out of the bath crossed his thoughts. Although she was certainly not being gentle right now. _Gods, she's going to rip me in half!_ He couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it, but he did want to live.

“You're hurting me,” he said through his teeth, and Brienne murmured something and loosened her grip on him slightly.

He chose that moment to slip his finger inside, and that seemed to set her over the edge. Head thrown back, neck exposed, she clenched around him and a long, exquisite, beautiful beautiful beautiful howl was pulled out of her, her breasts slipping out of her robe, back arched, and Jaime felt about to burst with want and need and why had he waited so long to do this? They should've been together every day, every night since they had met, on the boat and in the bath and at King's Landing ( _If Cersei ever finds out, I hope to be in the same room, just to see her face_ ) and everywhere in between, he had been so stupid, so stupid and so blind...

Brienne was spent, her legs and arms akimbo, breathing heavily, eyes closed. Jaime smirked to himself and lay next to her, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She didn't seem to register that he was there for a moment, until her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed blearily at him with those sapphire eyes of hers.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked, smirk overtaking his face entirely.

“More than I ever have alone,” she said, her voice laced with lust, and Jaime took a hungry kiss. 

“Where is that shy maid I knew so well?” Jaime teased. “Very un-ladylike, to pleasure yourself.”

“Never been much of a lady.”

“You're woman enough.” He traced a circle on her inner thigh.

“Not yet, I'm not.”

She reached for his breeches, clumsily untying the laces, when he held her fingers to stop her.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Brienne pulled her hand away, then slowly, surely, climbed on top of him, her eyes never leaving his, and his heart pounded in his ears, and his cock throbbed.

“I want you,” she said.

Jaime sat up, and gathered her in his arms. “You have me.”

They made love that night, and it wasn't perfect, and yet it was. His gold hand left marks on her sides, she winced slightly on his shoulder at his thrusts but ground against him still, their bodies one, and it was nothing like Cersei but he preferred it that way. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything, as his left hand rubbed her nipple, eliciting sighs. Snow pounded against the window.

After, the night was starting to fade, but the snow was not.

“I suppose we will all have to call you just Brienne of Tarth now,” Jaime said. 

She shook her head and grinned at him. “Go to sleep, Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock.”

“But I'm not tired in the least.” And he really wasn't.

“Neither am I.”

* * *

They awoke the next morning with their limbs entwined, Jaime's head tucked under Brienne's, her right hand holding his left.

“I'd thought it was a dream,” she said.

“As did I.” He remembered the dream that had brought him back to Harrenhal, the two of them bared and their swords that cast a blue light in the darkness, and her touch that had sent a shudder through him. 

“What happens now?” Brienne asked quietly. The dawn had broke, but the snowstorm still continued.

Jaime didn't know how to answer, so instead he kissed her cheek (the one that was not wounded) and gave her hand a squeeze. 

“Pod and Ser Hyle are waiting for us, most likely,” he said, and disentangled himself from her. 

They quickly dressed and headed downstairs to the dining area where Ser Hyle and Pod were breaking their fast with eggs and bacon. Jaime reveled in the surly glare that Ser Hyle was giving him. Pod seemed to be trying, unsuccessfully, to contain a ridiculous grin, while the innkeep was giving them both a strange look.

Clearly, Brienne's cries had been heard last night. Jaime raised an eyebrow at Ser Hyle. “My, my, Ser Hyle, such a sour face to have on such a wonderful morning. Are you not enjoying your meal? Perhaps the pork is a bit much for your stomach.”

Brienne was rolling her eyes, but gave him a pleased look. Ser Hyle was practically baring his teeth at him.

“I hope you know that I am rescinding my offer of marriage to you,” Ser Hyle said coldly to Brienne.

“I understand, Ser,” she said.

“I don't think you do. No one shall ever make another offer to you again, now that you have allowed this oathbreaker to spill his seed inside of you. You'll be lucky if you don't wind up with another one of his bastard children. At least this one will not be the product of incest. I thought you had better sense than to –”

The next part happened so fast, Jaime barely had time to react – Brienne had punched Ser Hyle across the face so hard that he flew sideways off of the stool and skidded down between the rows of tables. 

Jaime cringed, biting back the urge to laugh at the same time. Brienne was striding over to him as he was shakily standing back up on his feet.

“That was for Ser Jaime,” she told him. “ _This_ is for your wager.”

She kneed him in the balls, and Ser Hyle fell like a limp doll to the floor once again, and Jaime could not hold back his peals of laughter this time. He almost felt sorry for the man. The innkeep, strangely, was not making a move to stop any of this, instead watching with quiet amusement.

“Hold on,” Jaime said, catching his breath. “What's this 'wager' that you speak of?”

“When I was with Lord Renly's host, some of the men had a bet to see who could bed me first,” she explained. “Ser Hyle was one of them.”

Any trace amount of sympathy he might have had for him vanished instantly.

“You worthless excuse for a knight,” he snarled, and walked over to where he was still on the ground, whimpering and holding his useless sack. 

“I'm sorry for that,” Ser Hyle managed to say through the pain. “I really am. I told her.” 

Jaime was in no mood to hear his apologies, however, and with some help from Pod, pulled Ser Hyle up and threw him out the front door. 

“It's too bad,” Brienne said, as the three of them watched Ser Hyle Hunt laboriously climb up onto his horse and trot slowly away. “He was sort of useful. And easy to keep track of. Now he might reach Sansa before us.”

“Doubtful, with the way he's riding right now,” Jaime said. Ser Hyle was whining with pain with every step of his horse through the piles of snow.

“He'll recover eventually. And then what will happen?” Brienne gave him a sharp look when she said this.

Jaime looked back at her, still unable to answer her question. “Let's go eat. We'll need our strength.”

They turned to go back inside, and Jaime grabbed Brienne's right hand with his left.


End file.
